He folded his arms and just stood there for a few seconds, staring at Sam. "Every once in a while she shocks me by proving she has a brain," he said.
Sam didn't respond.
"I shouldn't be in here, anyway. All it does is make me crave what I can't have--not yet."
"Colin?" Tiffany said again.
"I'm coming."
At that point, Tiffany must've left because she didn't speak again.
Colin rattled off a list of rules, said Sam would be tested and that she'd better not forget a single one. Then he added a promise that really frightened her, more than the whip.
"You've got two weeks to get over...whatever illness it is you have,"
he said.
"Mono."
"Yes."
"Or what?" she whispered.
He laughed softly. "Do you really want to know?"
"No."
"That's what I thought."
When he was gone, Sam memorized what she'd been told. She didn't want to give Colin any reason to use the whip he thought was so much fun.
But, to her relief, the minutes dragged into hours and he didn't come back.
It was late, after midnight, but Zoe couldn't sleep. She sat on the front porch, cradling the cordless phone in her lap and watching the dark street, listening for the sound of her daughter's feet hurrying down the sidewalk or Sam's voice calling out a relieved "Mom!"
But nothing happened. Just like the night before.
At least Anton had gone to bed. Zoe wasn't sure how much more of his companionship she could take. No matter what he said or did, it hit her wrong. Or maybe her irritation came from the odd little resentments that had suddenly sprung up, resentments she hadn't even known she was harboring.
Over Sam's dog. Over the way Anton protected himself and his belongings.
The house had never felt less like her house. Even the way he represented Sam's grandfather bothered Zoe, despite the fact that it was true. She could list Ely's faults, but Anton couldn't, not without making her mad.
Zoe wasn't sure if she was fed up, or simply stressed, but it felt a lot like fed up and that complicated everything. "Fed up" meant she'd have to leave Anton as she'd left every man who'd come before him....
Where would she go this time? She'd sold her furniture when she moved in. He'd expected her to contribute to the household expenses, which were higher than she'd ever faced in the past, so she turned her entire paycheck over to him every two weeks and had absolutely no savings. She hadn't planned for the worst because he was supposed to be her knight in shining armor, the one man who could be the father she'd always wanted for Sam.
Instead of realizing that dream, she'd stripped herself of her ability to make it on her own. She'd even quit her job.
But she couldn't leave this place, anyway. Not now. Not without her daughter. Just the thought of Sam returning to find her gone sent pain lancing through Zoe's already aching heart.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she didn't wipe them away. She was too tired to fight the emotion that welled up. This helplessness was almost as bad as the fear. Zoe felt as if she was sinking in quicksand. She couldn't rush around and search as she would've imagined herself doing--if she'd ever imagined herself in such a situation--because she might miss the knock or call that would bring her daughter home. The moment she left her post, she worried that she should've stayed on guard. Yet, sitting here, she wished she could be out looking, taking aggressive action.
So she remained in limbo, caught between the fear of leaving and the fear of staying--and felt the quicksand rising ever higher.
She stood abruptly and went inside for her keys. If she didn't fight the crippling shock and panic, she was afraid she'd soon be incapable of anything. But the ticking of the pendulum clock, the only sound to break the silence in Anton's otherwise still house, reminded her of what her fiance would think of her driving around at this hour--that she was acting rash, that she was being impetuous not to stick to their original plan. He'd promised her they'd get up at first light, create flyers with Sam's photograph and organize a search party. He'd insisted the police were doing all they could and she should trust Detective Thomas to do his job. The media had already picked up the story and had run a short piece on the news asking anyone who might've seen Samantha to get in touch with the Rocklin Police Department.
But even with all of that, their actions seemed puny against the potential horror. They had to do more. The most random detail might be the one to unravel the mystery.
Praying for added strength, she returned to the rocking chair on the porch without her keys. But in her current state she had no idea how she'd survive until the sun came up.
The smell of a cigarette drew her attention to the house next door.
Someone had come out in the few seconds she'd been gone.
Straining to see, she searched for the source of the smoke drifting toward her and spotted her neighbor, Colin, sitting on his front step.
"I didn't know you smoked," she said.
She didn't need to raise her voice. Sound carried easily on the cool night air.
Colin got up and crossed to the split-rail fence that separated their two yards. Dressed in a pair of faded jeans, a sweatshirt that was on wrong side out and fur-lined slippers, he looked more casual than she'd ever seen him, nothing like the dapper attorney of daylight hours. "I don't, normally." He flicked his ashes off to one side. "Just when I'm restless." He took a long drag. "Tiff and I have been hoping to start a family. I would never have believed it's not safe here."
Sam's disappearance was making everyone feel vulnerable. "It's..." So many words crowded Zoe's tongue, but they were equally inadequate.
"Shocking," she finished.
"Of course it is. If I'm this upset, you must be...beyond miserable. I saw it on the news tonight."
The sympathy felt good. She needed it, but, for some reason, she couldn't accept it from Anton. She couldn't even let her fiance touch her right now. "I'm completely..." Again, she struggled for the right word, but this time she found the perfect one to describe how she felt. "Lost."
He walked around the fence and approached the porch. "I'm so sorry."
His commiseration made it even harder not to cry. "Thank you. I appreciate that."
The end of his cigarette glowed eerily in the dark, lighting the lower portion of his face as he brought it to his mouth. "What can I do to help?"
"We'll be having flyers printed in the morning. Could you circulate some?"
She must've been staring at his cigarette because he offered it to her, and she surprised herself by taking it.